Better Than Hallmark
by LawyerGirl1
Summary: Kirk makes amends for crashing Taylor's car into Luke's diner.


_A/N: I've always wondered exactly why Kirk would open an open-air diner when Luke's was being 'renovated'. Yes, we've gotten used to Kirk cashing in on whatever is happening around time, but it just seemed mean. Especially since Luke has come through for him a number of times – the Easter egg hunt, bringing out cocoa to the re-enactors, etc. This drabble is the result of my musings. Be kind and review, please!_

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I crashed Taylor's car into Luke's diner today. He was furious about it. Luke, I mean, not Taylor. Well, Taylor was fairly annoyed also ... oh, I'm babbling like the time I drank the six-pack of Coke too fast and it made my head spin. My head isn't spinning from Coke today; it's spinning from crashing Taylor's car into Luke's diner.

Gypsy was quick to blame me for the accident. (And after I gave her a discount on moisturiser so that the brake oil wouldn't age her hands too prematurely.) And everybody else just agreed with her, like screwing things up is one of my hobbies. It isn't. I'm fairly fond of photography and Bonsai trees and spending time with my girlfriend (Lulu; she's great) and taking Cat Kirk for walks, but other than that, I'm just a man about town. Screwing up isn't one of my hobbies. (Don't remind Miss Patty about the time I stopped her sampling fruit at Doose's Market; that came shortly after the sixpack-incident and has to be ignored.)

And something else everybody agrees on, is that I really kicked Luke in the teeth. I wouldn't do that. I mean, maybe, if we were playing soccer and Luke tripped over his laces just as I was about to kick the winning goal, then I would kick him in the teeth. But I wouldn't do that deliberately. He helped me with the Easter eggs and he calmed Michel down when I wanted him to take all the light bulbs out of the sconces and he's just been so good to me. He's given me the great advice on my relationship with Lulu (she's great) and well, he's just Luke. Always. Even when I quibble over the price of toast and how many coffee refills I can have, Luke stays patient with me and almost never kicks me out of the diner. Even Mother likes to kick me out of the house sometimes. Luke would never kick me out of the house.

I think.

He's been crabby since he broke up with Lorelai. It's even worse than the first time they broke up and he made all those creative culinary decisions in the diner – I've been trying to get him to make the special blackened Cajun bread again and all he does is yell, "Kirk, I'm not going to burn your toast on purpose, shut up and eat your eggs". (Then he does sound a little like Mother.) This time, he's just making normal toast and he fills people's orders and he grunts and groans and it's like it was before they dated, but worse, because now we've gotten used to seeing Luke smile and now he never smiles.

He definitely wasn't smiling when I crashed Taylor's car through the window.

He lost Lorelai, he lost the Twickham house and he lost his diner.

He's lost everything.

I'm sure he's going to lose his baseball cap next.

And I feel badly about it, I do. I don't know what I'd do if I lost Lulu and my converted nuclear shelter in Mother's house and my 47 jobs around town. I'd be lost, I guess. I'd feel lonely and lost and wandering the streets like a nomad wandering through Jerusalem, watching everybody else who have houses and families and jobs. Except, I would want a house and a family and a job and I think nomads don't. Not that I've met any nomads, but I've watched that Peter O'Toole movie about him in the desert a few times and it seems like the nomads are angry most of the time. Perhaps they're angry at their families.

Oh, it really is like the time with the Coke.

Nobody even offered me a hot beverage after I crashed Taylor's car through Luke's diner. They offered Peter O'Toole plenty of hot beverages. I could have used a hot beverage.

People are mad at me, I think.

It was an accident and they blame me for it and I have a bad feeling in my stomach about it. Like indigestion, only hotter. I think it's guilt. I don't think I've felt guilty before. I mean, I felt bad about the Easter eggs, but that was panic. Not guilt. And Luke helped me with the eggs and then the panic went away.

I think I'm going to have to do something about the guilt myself.

I don't know what, though.

I can't buy Luke a new diner.

I can't buy him a new Lorelai.

I can't buy him the Twickham house.

I can't buy the solution to this problem. And if you can't buy something, you have to make something. (I learned that from Martha Stewart; my girlfriend Lulu likes watching her shows. Especially the ones where she has double features or when there's dogs; Lulu likes dogs. I don't like dogs, but I like Lulu. She's my girlfriend. She's great.)

I can't make Luke a new Twickham house.

I could try to make a new Lorelai, except I'm not sure if I still have the right wrenches for it and I would definitely get caught trying to sneak some of her laundry off the line. (Babette has gotten new binoculars and that voice of her could cut through a diamond. The neighbours would hear and it would be embarrassing to try to explain why I'm stealing Lorelai's sweaters.) So making a new Lorelai would be difficult. Not impossible. Just tricky. Except Lulu might not like it and she might not understand why I want to make Luke a Lorelai.

So I'd have to make Luke a new diner.

I'm not very good with carpentry. (I did have a stellar performance as Jesus in the Festival of Living Art, but other than eating lentils and turning the other cheek to that sneak Judas, I'm not good at channelling the essence of Jesus. Luke had to fix the tables for the Last Supper.) And I am not sure I can afford Tom's services; he's a little testy after that time at the lake when I accidently dropped his new chainsaw into the water. I'll have to wait until he stops muttering under his breath when he sees me before I ask for a quote.

But I suppose I could have a few Formica tables put together, get a couple of chequered tablecloths and some white plates. Then I could put together a kind of open-air diner outside in the town square; Taylor would let me have a permit and, if he doesn't, I can forge his signature on the slip and convince him he drank the wrong pills again today. It should be easy enough to rig up a coffee cup sign for outside. I wouldn't be able to call it Luke's; that would plagiarism somehow and calling it Williams Hardware just seems ... well, stupid. Then there can be another haven for Luke to go to; he can see that, even if he has lost everything, he still has the town and we care for him.

Yes.

It's a better apology than getting a lame Hallmark card and some flowers.


End file.
